


Damage

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blindness, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 08:45:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13210164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: After Ignis’ injuries, Gladiolus doesn’t want to walk away.





	Damage

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

What’s left of Altissia is deceptively beautiful, the grand bedrooms they’re given hardly worth all the destruction. Gladiolus would rather be out in the dirt again if it meant they’d all still be _whole_ , but that’s too much to ask for. He always knew there were some things he couldn’t protect Noctis from. And that frustration makes him tense and angry and bitter, and all the guards he pauses look ready to haul him right outside.

He makes it past them anyway, off into the suite they’ve been assigned. Noctis’ door is closed, Prompto’s open but deserted. Gladiolus slips into Ignis’ room without knocking and isn’t surprised to find it empty. It’s been even harder than usual to wrench Ignis from Noctis’ side. Gladiolus isn’t sure which one of them it’s for anymore. He’s often thought that doting was more for Ignis’ sake than their prince’s. 

He plops down on the middle of Ignis’ mattress, still in his shoes and everything, because eventually, Prompto will shuffle Ignis out to rest. It’s better to wait in private than go have the conversation he needs in front of Noctis. He doesn’t have to wait as long as he expected.

Before he’s even figured out what he’s going to say, the door is opening. Ignis steps inside, his hand lingering on the door, feeling around it for the doorknob to close it up again. Then he turns towards the bed, and Gladiolus immediately announces, “I’m here.” 

Ignis nods and says, “I know; I can hear you breathing.” His voice is just the same as it’s always been, calm and rich. Gladiolus wonders distantly how loud he breathes, and if his rhythm’s any different than the others’. He’s sure that Ignis’ senses will learn to compensate one way or the other, if his eyes don’t heal first.

His eyes are hidden by his opaque visor, but he comes forward regardless, steps slow and steady. Gladiolus doesn’t get up to help him, not this time, because he’s got to learn, and it’s only a straight line. When his foot nudges the bed, he stops. His hand reaches out, and Gladiolus bites his tongue before giving in and reaching back. He slips his thicker fingers around the smooth leather of Ignis’ gloves, holding on. He keeps holding it as Ignis hikes up one knee, crawling onto the mattress. It’s telling that he doesn’t even pause to shed his shoes and jacket. He comes to sit as formally as one can on a plush bed. His posture’s still straight, head high.

He doesn’t ask why Gladiolus is there, so it’s up to Gladiolus to ask, “Why are we in separate rooms?” It barely comes out a question instead of an accusation. He knows they were assigned, but Ignis usually handles that sort of thing, including corrections. Maybe he was just busy with Noctis, but Gladiolus doesn’t think so.

Gladiolus was right. Ignis gives no apology. He doesn’t show any surprise. He must’ve figured this was coming, and that’s probably why he came to Gladiolus instead of a proper chair. He answers pragmatically, “I think it best that we talk. This does change things, Gladio.”

Gladiolus bristles, even though he’d thought that might be coming. He grunts just, “Why.” 

“To begin with, I hardly look the same. _I_ may not be able to look, but that does not make me ignorant to the large, rather obvious scarring that mars my face.”

Without meaning to, Gladiolus snorts derisively. It’s not like facial scars are a new thing to them. Ignis should know that.

Ignis offers nothing else, even though he’s supposed to be the one that’s good with words. Gladiolus isn’t, so he reverts to actions instead. He lifts his hand to Ignis’ cheek, touching only lightly at first, tenderly and warm. He can feel the heat of Ignis’ skin, even it it’s grown too ashen. Gladiolus drags his thumb along Ignis’ chin, then draws him forward by it and draws his arched lips open. Gladiolus wonders if Ignis can feel him coming.

He presses their mouths together, chaster than it’s ever been. He remembers a time when he’d throw Ignis against a wall and slam into him, hike him up and fold right over him, stuff him full in every way. Ignis’ breath would hitch, and his hands would claw at Gladiolus’ jacket, tracing every muscle and quietly urging Gladiolus on. But they’ve been through too much now for that, and he kisses Ignis as gently as he can. Close up, he can see the faint haze of Ignis’ washed-out eyes through the visor.

It doesn’t bother him. He shuts his own eyes and lets his tongue trace Ignis’ lips, while Ignis seems to alternatively shudder and melt into him.

When Gladiolus finally pulls away, he murmurs, “’Still taste the same.”

Ignis frowns. 

After another stretch of uncomfortable, unproductive silence, Gladiolus mutters, nearly growling a demand, “Don’t take the only good thing I have left away from me.” It comes out sounding terrifyingly vulnerable, and that just makes him tense up more.

Ignis tells him, “There is little left to have, and you have two other good things.”

“I didn’t have them the way I had you.”

“That’s hardly what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

Again, Ignis doesn’t answer. Gladiolus’ aggravation only mounts—something that Ignis would usually draw him back down from. With no other bright ideas, Gladiolus surges forward again, kissing Ignis with more fervour, diving his tongue right inside when Ignis gasps against him. He even reaches up to curl a hand in Ignis’ hair, to hold on and drag Ignis tight against him. Ignis reaches out to grip Gladiolus’ shoulder, squeezing like clutching for purchase. This time when they part, Ignis’ lips are left red and glossy, and Gladiolus is radiating heat and growling, “Let me stay here tonight. Maybe you can’t see me anymore, but I can make sure you _feel_ me.”

He can feel the almost imperceptible shiver run though Ignis’ slender form. Ignis’ grip tightens again, before releasing and trailing over, gliding up Gladiolus’ shoulder, throat, across his chin, finally his cheek. Ignis’ longer fingers thread back through his dark hair. A semi-smile finally twitches onto Ignis’ lips. Gladiolus’ pulse races quicker.

Ignis finally sighs, “Very well,” and guides the next kiss, which Gladiolus desperately barrels into it.


End file.
